Where did his feet go,
walking, the dreaded steps
of the night watchman,
turning the flashlight
into a net, unto himself,
twisting and hiding
from the shadows
of a candle left burning
inside the classroom, filled
with alarm clocks,
eager chickens, laying eggs
for the future, the paradox:
which came first:
the watchful eye of the serpent
or the arthritic feet of the tree,
in groans and sighs,
unable to break free.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem